


i go down to the edge of the sea

by Anemoi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:46:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/pseuds/Anemoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 snapshots of Guti in non-chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i go down to the edge of the sea

**Author's Note:**

> this was sitting in my wip file for the longest time because i wrote it way back in march, but well, EVERYTHING HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME WHEN I TRY TO WRITE GUTI!!, so i messed with it some more recently b/c I watched guti give an interview about sergio maybe/possibly leaving and ugh, feelings.  
> I should probably warn for the lack of plot- it's not really a story (?)

 

 

_i._

People use to tell him he's beautiful. First, of course, his mother. Thin lipped, with her hard, calloused hands and her kind, tired eyes, and _Chema, my little Chema, how beautiful you are_ as she combs her fingers through his blonde hair. He liked having it long. He liked looking in the mirror and seeing a prince reflected back at him, all white teeth and blue eyed and fair haired. To other people he was awkward, gangly limbed and too lean, rapier thin and tall for his age. He was a mess of blonde hair, crooked smile, quick clean tackles that put all the other children to shame.

People told him he's beautiful. Second, of course, the first girl he's ever slept with, who wasn't going to be his wife and was never his girlfriend. She'd smiled and tugged on the ends of his hair as he grinned and bent to kiss her neck, and _Jose Maria Gutierrez, has anyone told you you're very beautiful for a boy_ as she sighed and pressed herself against him. “Yes.” He'd said, insolent smirk on his mouth, flipping his hair out of his face, smoothing a hand over her hip. “I know.” And she'd laughed and called him bastard, but her voice was soft on the edges.

People told him he's beautiful. As in, the commentators on television as he executed a perfect back heel pass, a perfect goal, a perfect assist. _Perfect!_ They said, _Spectacular! Beautifully done._

But the irony was this- there was nothing beautiful about pain. And this- Guti was filled up to the brim with it.

He knew that he was beautiful. Or he might have been beautiful. He also knows this- there is nothing beautiful about this- blood in the sink, blood in the cracks of the mirror, glass shards on his first three knuckles.  

 

_ii._

The defender mouths a single word at him, mocking, _maricón,_ and Guti launches himself at him, only spared by the fact that Gonzalo had his arms around his waist and was digging his feet in. Guti sees Raul's face in the corner of his eye- and the instant Raul sees the defender's lips around the shape of the word, something in his expression catches fire.

Raul had his hands to the man's neck in an instant. His mouth was a snarl, vicious, and the defender was shocked by his reaction and taken off guard, though he was so much taller than Raul.

The referee steps in, just in time. Guti stops struggling. Raul loosens his chokehold, but he doesn't look away.

Raul gets a yellow. Guti gets a yellow. They don't look at each other at all. The defender's throat has a budding red mark on it, and Guti doesn't know how to feel.

 

 

 

_iii._

Maybe someday, this, again. (A wish, a hope, a waking dream)- Sunlight, golden and honeyed, the morning sunlight that hasn't really warmed anything yet, shining through the cold glass. Blue and gold and Raul wrapped in his white sheets, just the curve of his jaw, a curl of hair over his ear that Guti can see. His heartbeat, warm and steady under Guti's palm. And soon he'll stir and soon, he'll smile and rub his eyes and Guti will lean over to kiss him and there's still time before they have to get up, time enough for anything they want.  

 

 

 

_iv._

He sits and the phone doesn't ring. Guti tells himself he's not waiting. He goes to practice, coaches the kids and laughs with them and visits his own children, he paints and he goes to dinner with a friend or two. He doesn't wait.

It's morning again, and he'll have to rush if he wants churros at the corner shop for breakfast, except he forgets his keys and then he ends up dropping everything on the floor in his haste to get downstairs. Guti sighs. It's going to be that kind of day. His phone vibrates against his coat pocket, and for a second he almost doesn't pick up. He swears, puts everything in to his bag again, hoping whoever it was would just leave a message. It keeps ringing.

Guti sighs, takes the steps two at a time, fishing for his keys with one hand and bringing his phone to his ear with the other.

“Hello?” He says.

He stops, mid step. Theres a swoop in his chest as his foot drops to the step below. His voice doesn't shake, even though his hands do.

“Raul.”  

 

 

_v._

He's good at passing. This he knows, sending the perfect ball right to Raul's feet. Raul does what he does, the ball swishes softly in to the back of the net, the crowd- the white, white crowd- rising as one to celebrate. Guti's running in the other direction, not looking back. He trusts in things that are given, the ground under his boots (the Bernabeu), the crest on his heart (Real Madrid), his own quick feet. They say he's got magic heels, _el tacón de dios,_ they say he's half a god, at least. A god?

He looks back, finally, having run a good distance away from the goal, the opposite direction of which his teammates were running to. Raul is pointing his fingers at the sky, and his smile is benevolent, holy, blessed son of the worshipping crowd. Before Zidane hugs him he raises a hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his wedding ring.

Guti tries not to think about Raul's mouth. His heart is a permanent wound.

The back of his heel hurts. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> _"I notice the ones in pain_   
>  _shine more than the others._   
>  _It’s so they can be found,_   
>  _I think. Found and harbored."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> when will i stop being sad about guti in all his flawed glory? (never) 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://mesutings.tumblr.com)


End file.
